Blaine's staring at the ceiling, trying to lie still on the bed but feeling restless, needing to change positions every few seconds. He hums softly a little to himself, something familiar that he can't put his finger on. He's sure he'd sung it once before, but one of the things he missed most about not being here was having somewhere not just to sing, but to perform. Blaine needed an outlet, a place where he can leave himself behind and be a larger, more confident person. He sighs at the irony that at the one time he needs it most, a place to leave himself behind and banish his insecurities, it's the furthest thing away from what he's living.

He sits up, hearing footsteps from outside, but realises it's Sam and Brittany. But then there's another voice, and it's Kurt. It's definitely Kurt.

"Seriously, dude, you alright there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I've had worse," Kurt insists, and something in Blaine's stomach seizes at those words.

"See you tomorrow, Kurt!"

"Night, Britt." There's a strange note of innocent affection in his voice that makes Blaine smile, even though the words aren't directed at him.

The footsteps die away, and a few moments later the door opens, and Kurt's there, framed in the light of the hallway, looking oddly older, tired and care-worn.

"Hey," Blaine says, voice suddenly weak.

"How'd your call go?"

"It wasn't so bad. I think yesterday and today have probably been two of my best days here. Yesterday I had this guy called Dave, pretty young, first-time client who just wanted me to top him – he was a little nervous, but I think I did okay. He was really great to me, very polite and kind. And today the guy mainly just wanted to watch me and Santana get it on while he got himself off. Neither of us enjoyed it much, as you can tell. Took all we could to stop us both laughing as I attempted to go down on her."

"Attempted?" Kurt raises an eyebrow, still stood in the doorway.

"I've not done it since I practised on Brittany. I just tried to remember what I could and she seemed not to mind. Not that she would have said if she wasn't happy with it. How about yours? You took a while."

Kurt exhales as he walks over to Blaine, kicking the door shut with his foot. "Guess I've had worse."

The knot forms in Blaine's stomach again, or maybe it never really left. Knowing some of the stuff Kurt's been through, it's difficult not to worry at such a statement.

"What happened?" Blaine stretches out an arm to provide some sort of comfort, but then gasps softly as Kurt turns to sit down on the bed with him. Kurt's back is covered in a galaxy of marks and welts, flecked with stars of blood and the planets of slowly-forming wounds. "Oh my God, Kurt. What the hell did he do to you?"

"Someone who liked toys, I guess. He used nearly everything in the cupboard we had on me. Paddles, crops, whips, all the usual. Might have gone a little overboard on the bondage. Scarves and blindfolds and chains and gags and all. Liked the vibrator, too. I don't get it – they all try to make their sex more exciting, but they all just end up doing the same as the next client."

Blaine doesn't know what hits him harder – the fact that someone could damage Kurt like this, and to think that he's had worse, or the careless, throwaway tone with which he says it.

"But Kurt, your back - ,"

"It's fine. It'll be fully healed in a few weeks."

Somehow Blaine doubts that, but he guesses that Kurt knows more than he does and if he says so, then it's probably true in some capacity.

Kurt notices the confusion and doubt and worry scrawled across Blaine's face. "You're so sweet, Blaine. I'll be fine. When you've been here as long as I have, you tend to develop a - ," he pauses, searching for the right word to use, "detachment to these kinds of things. It's not an immunity – it still hurts and you still feel every scrap of pain your client can draw out of you – but it's an almost-ignorance. You stop caring. I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I guess it helps sometimes."

And suddenly Blaine's struck with a thought that terrifies him: what if it's him next? What if his next client inflicts the same – he doesn't dare think the words or worse – on him? If they use his body for everything it's worth, milking his tears and jolts and cries of pain until his body can take no more, then keep going anyway because they just don't give a shit?

There's tears in his eyes as he crawls over to Kurt and carefully wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, and there's a sudden reminder of just how comforting a familiar touch can be as Kurt holds him.

"We're okay," Kurt whispers, and Blaine wills himself to believe it's true.

And then a thought stirs in the back of Blaine's memory, and a phrase rises in his mind: "After the disaster that was yesterday, well, I needed at least a sort-of excuse to treat you good."

He tries to think back, to remember what Kurt did that day. Pleasuring. Kissing. Lots of touching.

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Mhmm?"

"Lie down, on your back. I want to try something."

Kurt breaks the embrace, stares at Blaine for a moment before obliging. He folds his arms on the pillow, resting his head on them and stretching out along the bed, just breathing softly. Vulnerable beneath the light, each wound is thrown into new exposure and Blaine can see the burns that not only collect over his back and shoulders, but also his thighs and most likely his ass beneath his underwear. Why a person would want to do that anyone, let alone Kurt, he has no idea.

It's slowly, almost nervously that he approaches, crawling across the mattress before straddling Kurt on all fours, hands next to his shoulders and legs either side of his thighs, not close enough to touch but still enough to keep control. He leans down, breath hot on the back of Kurt's neck, making him shiver softly and causing goose bumps to freckle the skin like rain.

"I'm gonna make you feel better, Kurt, okay? Just close your eyes," Blaine whispers, and Kurt blindly follows his instructions, turning his head into the pillow just to make sure.

Blaine tries to remember exactly what Kurt had said to him that training session. Necks, he remembers. Biting and sucking and kissing.

He thumbs Kurt's hairline gently before leaning down and pressing kisses along the same trail, smiling as Kurt relaxes beneath his touches. It's very gently that he sucks, just on the vertebra raised at the base of Kurt's neck, and he whimpers.

"Are you okay?" Blaine suddenly pulls back.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Keep going?"

"It's okay, this?"

"More than okay," Kurt smiles into the cotton.

So Blaine lowers himself back down and repeats glossing over Kurt's hairline and finding the notches of his spine, discovering new hideaways in the world that is his body.

It's then that he starts to go further, to move into the fractured territory of his back and to explore the broken land he finds. His fingertips ghost over the top mark, where blood has collected beneath unbroken skin, then, like before, he kisses it, his tongue flickering lightly over the wound. Kurt trembles a little beneath him, but shows no sign of discomfort, so he continues, leaving a trail through each cut, each bruise, each burn, connecting them all together to form one universe linked by the stars of his kisses that form across them. And as he keeps going, as he trails his hands down Kurt's undamaged sides as he goes, he realises that there is no better feeling that treating Kurt properly, knowing that he might make a difference to Kurt's pain. And having Kurt this relaxed and at ease below him, if only half an hour after his body had been wracked for all it was worth, made him feel light and comforted in himself as well.

He reaches the elastic of Kurt's underwear, but wants to go down, to go further, to make sure he finds every last crack. He gently tugs at them with one hand, asking, "May I?"

Kurt lifts his hips in response, allowing Blaine to pull them down and expose – oh!

While Kurt's back had been covered in an array of different scars, his ass bears only one type – the skin is an ashen red and scattered with tiny drops of blood where it has welled to the surface. And then he looks down and he sees where Kurt's entrance is red and a little swollen and a wave of anger washes through him.

He tries to stifle this by letting his fingers dance over the skin, feeling the heat radiate from it as he traces over the most damaged areas before his fingers slip down and part him, making him seem curiously vulnerable beneath him. Blaine leaves one tiny, caring kiss over Kurt's entrance, then draws back and finishes by bestowing the same attention to Kurt's thighs until each cut has been

"How're you feeling?" he asks, his voice breathy.

"Good. Much better, thank you." Kurt rolls over onto his side, blinking as he opens his eyes and a smile across his face.

"Is there anything you want me to do for you? Do you want me to help try and clean you up a little more, get some antiseptic?"

"No, no. All I want you to do is get beneath these covers with me and hold me."

And Blaine can't refuse.

He moves in as close to Kurt as he dares, his arm wrapping over his side to keep him nearby, just to make sure he's safe.

"I meant it, Blaine – thank you."

Blaine tilts his head over Kurt's shoulder, just letting him know that he's still there and always will be and that while they've got each other, everything will be okay.